And I hate that this is the thing that’s doing it, but I must ask -

Is no one going to mention that Michael Jackson was definitely a child molester? Because he totally was, right? Am I seriously the only one that remembers that creepy documentary where he talked about his slumber parties with children in his creepy mansion, or his multiple lawsuits settled out of court or his criminal trial where he showed up late wearing Spongbob Squarepants pajamas?

That was a run-on but I’m rusty. Anyway, the words “innocent until proven guilty” were actually uttered in eulogy at dear old McFeely’s funeral today. Is that not the saddest comment of all? Please, family and friends, promise that no matter what you will at least go with the moment of silence at my funeral rather than pointing out that presumably I didn’t molest anyone. Or, more accurately, that any such allegations were settled out of court.
Does the recent coverage of St. MJ show that people are too stupid to remember all that other stuff? Or does it show how little our culture values the protection of children, that in the end one’s celebrity is enough to absolve even such a terrible act as abusing a child? Oh, and while I’m at it he definitely overdosed on some seriously hard core meds, everyone. Quit acting like he is father of the year!

What a dark world our savior entered. A world where loved ones suffered terrible illnesses, children died, people lacked money and food and water and health care. A world where family members argued over big and little things. Where wars were being waged and innocents killed. Where people everywhere were enslaved, not only literally, but also spiritually by sin. A world exactly like this one we’re living in this Christmas. And yet,

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)

What a gift to be thankful for.

If anyone reads this blog, and doesn’t know God, know this: He has made his dwelling among us. The elements of darkness in your world are nothing new, but there is still a light that never goes out. Investigate God through Jesus and your Christmas will never be the same.

A song we used to sing regarding my brother’s physical therapy appointments. Once again, I am amazed how much experiencing life with a sibling who has special needs has influenced my thinking.  During a delirious late night feeding of my newborn last night, I began wondering when and how his object permanence would start to appear.  The fact that such a question would cross my mind may be factor one in suggesting I have overheard some interesting neurological discussions in the past. But the real kicker is this: after wondering about it for while I cheerfully thought, “well, when his therapist comes I’ll just ask about that.” Only later did I remember, that particular resource doesn’t automatically come with every baby. The positive view of therapists might be partly rooted in my childhood fondness for one of my brother’s PT’s, a wonderful lady named Jane whose extra kindness and attention to me still has an influence more than 20 years later. No bother, I still have the best consultant around: Dr. Mom, aka One Girl Friday.

It’s 8:23 a.m., I’m wearing my sockless baby in an organic ergonomic baby carrier and listening to John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy” while contemplating whether yoga is acceptable 4 weeks postpartum.  I think I’m going to go eat some corporate processed cereal that I bought at a big box store just to even it out. Peace.

From the desk of “something only a family member of a guy with special needs will get” :

My 2 week old baby, like many babies, has a startle reflex that makes him waive one or both arms in the air when lying on his back. 28-years his senior, my brother with CP makes great use of nonverbal communication, including a signal for “yes” that has been in our family since before I can remember. That signal being the lifting of his left fist. At least 10 times in the last two weeks, I have interpreted my baby’s fist pumps as affirmative of whatever baby talk nonsense I happen to be uttering at that particular sleep-deprived moment. I keep thinking he’s so agreeable!! So we are now having conversations like this: “isn’t daddy the cleverest for getting mommy that orange juice?” Fist pump. “Isn’t baby going to feel better after this diaper change?” Fist pump; wild screaming; a mixed message. We’ll have to work on that one!!

Now that my baby is 7 days old it seems time to make him do impressions. The first of which was developed by daddy and me at about 2:30 a.m. when our beloved son was up and at’em entertaining us. It’s a simple Bill O’Reily but it really gets us going. The baby likes to say things like, “Sacramento: you say at night I sleep in a cradle; I say I stay awake on your lap. Show me where I’m wrong.”

The really sad aspect of this little nugget is that right now my baby and husband are sleeping, but I am waiting for them to wake up so I can perfect baby Trump, using baby’s teeny right hand to say, “you’re fired.” I’ve officially lost it.

Just returned from a little false alarm labor check at the hospital. Before including hubby in the festivities, the nurses pulled me aside to ask a routine list of “privacy questions.” Things like, “are you being abused, physically, sexually or emotionally? Do you use drugs? Alcohol? Do you have any STD’s? Do you or have you ever smoked?”

As soon as they were finished they let my husband join me, whereupon they asked, “how much do you weigh?”

IS NOTHING SACRED? Couldn’t they just tag that little gem somewhere between Chlamydia and cigarettes? Because even though hubby claims to be impressed that I could gain that much, stunning a man with my girth is not exactly the kind of accomplishment I strive for. Really!

I love to read and talk on the phone, and might even combine the two, but SERIOUSLY?

Is this the right moment for those $2,000 Gucci boots?

Such is the question asked today by the Wall Street Journal, in suggesting it’s a bit tacky for the shows at Milan Fashion Week to commence just as the global financial market seems to be tanking. Like most of life’s important questions, it raises several others. Questions like, “why on earth does the WSJ have a fashion reporter?” and “did said reporter just now discover that the fashion industry is marvelously out of touch with reality?” The WSJ article itself concludes with the most important question of all:

Let us know how the financial crisis is affecting your wardrobe plans. Will you buy fewer clothes, less expensive designs, or more sober looks?

Personally I’m going with the more sober looks. The lampshade hat and Mardi Gras beads are SO 2007.

Despite my recent negligence in posting, this blog got 131 comments today. One was from my beloved sister-in-law and made sense. The rest were spam, advertising all kinds of things that have nothing to do with me.  I guess it’s better than the telemarketing phone calls that died out when we joined the do-not-call registry.  Anyway, if anyone is interested in enlargement or reduction of a body part or mortgage, or needs a sweet deal on hair follicle products, let me know. I might know a guy.